Are You Crazy
by Starcat000
Summary: In this world nothing was right. Everything was different. He would have to tread carefully if he was to make it home in one piece. England gets stuck in the 2P universe. Alternative History.
1. Chapter 1

**Are You Crazy: **

**Note: **My attempt at writing within the 2P universe, focusing on an alternative world history which might lead to such a creation. So if you are interested in that sort of thing there will be some of that here.

Probably got some spelling and grammar errors, which I'll most likely fix at a later date.

**Up the Creek**

There were two of them. Their faces were obscured with blank masks, they sat perched above up him, gazing lifelessly down. He had but a second to leap backwards as a knife, thrown at an impossible speed, hit ground where he had been standing.

Without a world they flew into action.

England had trouble keeping his balance as the two alternated between long-range and short-range attacks. Their speed and strength placed them as smaller nations and their fighting style was East-Asian in origin.

Their teamwork was prefect. Even with his superior strength and speed he was steadily being pushed back and kept on the defensive. Who were they? How did they know to come after him when he had barely bean in this strange world a month?

"What do you what?" England tried, asking in a brief pause between fighting. Predictably, he was met with eerily silence.

Frowning, England dodged several more punches from assailant one. He growled, he had not traveled half way around this insane world and put up with all kinds of crap to be offed but would be faceless assassins. As he ducked a kick and quickly drew his gun, firing several shots, which clipped the shoulder of the second attacker, who had been throwing daggers at him from several meters. He may not have access to his favoured sword- the gun had never been his weapon of choice- but one did not survive as long as he did by being defenceless. Whether it be in this crazy world or his own.

Unexpectedly, a new red form blurred in from his left and England spun away in time to see something long and hard impact the side of his opponent's head and send him crashing into a nearby tree.

A shadowy figure followed the action, quickly leaping after the second attacker, batting aside a dagger and jabbing the others stomach so he fell for his higher perch to the ground.

"Get the fuck off my territory. Ingrates!" The stranger called, his back to England, as the two faceless attackers began to retreat.

"I catch you here again and there will be hell to pay."

He then turned around and England was confronted with a familiar figure. He was tall, grimy, with ruffled blond hair and leaning against a hockey stick, which was stained red in several places.

"Wh?" England began to ask but was silenced when the stick was levelled at his face.

"I'm Canada. Don't fucking forget it. Now who the hell are you?"

England blinked, just when he thought he was getting a handle on all the weirdness this crazy world threw him another curve ball.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . Three Weeks Earlier. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Stone Hedge a mystery to even him. Built before his time for purposes unknown. He always loved walking amongst the ancient stone blocks, feeling the magic and power swell around him. An old and wild magic that made him feel young again. Though with increases in tourism he could not do this as much he would have liked, being that there were people visiting the stones throughout most of the day. This, unfortunately, relegated his visits to the early hours of the morning often before the sun rose.

England stood at the center of the ancient stone circle, relishing the currents of energy, which seamed to swell around the spot. As a country personification he was especially attune to this form of 'magic,' which connected him to his land and people, giving him his supernatural strength and speed as well as the ability to influence different parts of his country. England expanded his aura and turned his vision inwards, feeling out the millions of people who created the citizens of his nation. With a released breath, England forced himself to relax and let the stiffness leach from his body. A cold night breeze washed over him and he allowed himself to slip into a meditative state, allowing him to reconnect with his country. An action which was as necessary, due to it ensuring a personification did not become detached from his/her people, as it was painful and inspiring, for a country was comprised of fluctuating amounts of suffering and triumph.

Today something was off.

England grimaced, attempting to root out the problem, shifting through the billion interconnected sparks of life. He even extended his senses into the rest of the United Kingdom, through he had significantly less clarity when it come to his brother countries. There was an irritated beat from the north, which was Scotland acknowledging his intrusion, meaning he too was probably in meditation or something akin to it. If he where to describe the sensation he would say it resembled the lights of a city as seen from a space station.

Suddenly, all the sparks lit up like tiny suns and a wave of energy washed over his land, rushing towards him. Then it was crashing into him and he was drowning.

Nothing

Darkness

Panic

When England came too he had a pounding headache and a full body ache, like he had just experienced the beating of his life. His mind was mysteriously blank. He groaned then rolled over. The sky was blanketed in grey clouds. England frowned, looking up at the tall brink buildings, which were now surrounding him. Odd. England sat up, massaging his neck and glancing around, he appeared to be sitting in some sort of narrow ally and definitely not anywhere near where he should be. He pulled himself to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his legs, shuffling down towards the light of the main road. He appeared to be in the middle of a modest sized town. The streets around him were deserted and all the windows were closed and boarded up. England swayed slightly on the spot as he tried to walk, overcome with a wave of unease and pain. He leant up against a wall to catch his breath. A brief examination of the architecture revealed him to be somewhere in Europe but he would need more information to pinpoint the exact country. Where were all the people? England paused again as another wave of vertigo overtook him. Frowning, he stopped and turned his attention inwards in the hopes of locating the source of his distress.

Finally, after some searching, England located the source of pain. It was not any physical injury nor was it a danger to his physical country. No, he had suddenly lost his connection to space around him. That inhuman ability to feel and interact with his surroundings, connect with people/land and evaluate the power, mood and state of mind of fellow personifications was muted. Like he had suddenly lost his sense of touch or ability to see. England could barely feel anything save for the distant thump of his homeland. Sure, it was always harder to get readings in other countries but it should not affect him to such a degree. He was practically walking blind. Now sufficiently worried England decided it would be best to return to his country and figure everything out from the safety of his home. Unfortunately, this ended up being somewhat problematic, as he seemed unable to secure a lock on his country's energy signature. England squashed the raising feeling of panic, which accompanied being stranded in unknown territory with no way to orient himself.

Don't panic.

There had been a time, many years ago, when he had not had the power to move across other lands at high speeds or sense beyond his nation. When stepping outside his borders had seen a drastic fall in his personal power. When he had had to rely on human methods of travel and navigation, and that had been in the times before modern transport and technology, in which sailing ships, horse drawn carriages and compasses were the beast things available. The modem era with its globalisation and high-tech travel had spoiled him. So, after taking a deep breath, England headed of down the street again, keeping an eye out for any clues to his location. Something was seriously wrong but he wouldn't get anywhere by having a panic attack. While he walked he tried desperately to recall the moments which could have landed him in such a situation.

Several seconds of wondering saw England turn a corner and spot two familiar figures walking down the street towards him. England squinted, recognising the form of Austria and the blond hair of Poland. With no small amount of relief he headed toward the two, intent on getting one of them to take him home or at least point him in the direction of the nearest phone or airport.

Both countries froze when they saw him, appearing absolutely terrified. They both tensed up and watched him approach wearily. England frowned as he failed to pick up either of their energy signatures. This was getting worrying. As he drew nearer he noticed that both were wearing an odd assortment of clothes. Well, it was odd because it did not resemble anything they usually wore. Poland's hair was absolutely atrocious, resembling a mess of straw. He had sunken in eyes, emphasises by a heavy green coat and bright red scarf, which he had wrapped around his neck. Considering Poland's habit for cross-dressing and wearing that odd assortment of make-up, this unkemptness was a notable change. Austria was marginally neater, wearing a blue vest which clashed horribly with the red coat he had dapped over his shoulders. Despite this not being a major change there was still something seriously off about him as well. England slowed, internal alarms triggered.

"Poland, Austria." He greeted each with casual nod. It was best to act as naturally as possible given his sudden disadvantage and their strange appearances. Countries usually did not stray to far from a fashion trend without some degree of internal change. They both looked at each other, taking a cautious step back. Was it just him or did they both look slightly panicky? It also seemed to be caused by his presence, though he could not for the life of him think of what he had done recently to garner such a reaction.

"Great Britain," Austria eventually greeted, giving a wave and appearing slightly confused. There was a pause between the three of them.

"Um," Poland coughed several times into his scarf, "What are you doing here?"

England frowned, why was Poland sick? Was he experiencing trouble with his country? You would think that he would have been updated on something of such significance. Additionally, was he delusional or was Poland a lot more subdued than usual. And why had he called him Great Britain? The others had not called him that in decades.

"Are you well?" He focused on Poland in concern. It seemed the question confused him more.

"Yes?" Poland answered, taking the time to examine him.

Silence stretched between them again.

"What's with the new clothes?" Austria suddenly burst out in a very un-Austria like manner.

"Austria," Poland interrupted with a tone of warning, which was promptly ignored.

"I mean it's better than the old stuff but it sort of takes away from the whole crazy…"

"Austria leave."

"What?" Austria startled, looking slightly annoyed.

"I said leave,"

"But it was just getting interesting," Austria smiled, revealing rows of pointed teeth and England frowned. That was defiantly not normal. And what had happened to Austria's voice. He had known the man for a long time and he was never one to interrupt or ramble. He sounded very uncouth.

"Go home Austria," Poland said, this time more forcefully, taking an almost threatening step towards Austria. The two countries stared at each other for several seconds.

"Well, if you say so," Austria finally shrugged, dramatically sighing, backing down. He shot England one more curious glance before continuing on his way down the road.

"Austria," Poland called one last time, causing Austria to slow without looking around, "don't say anything." Austria lifted a dismissive hand in the air and continued at a leisurely pace around a corner.

After watching this far from normal exchange England confirmed, without a doubt, that something was wrong. On top of all the issues he was having in connecting to his country there was also apparently newly developed international problems he was unaware of. That had not been a normal exchange between countries. There had been power involved in that exchange along with uncertainty and hidden hostility. It was an exchange commonly found during wartime when paranoia was ripe and trust was hard to come by. England was immediacy on edge, looking over Poland in a new light, tensing in preparation for any further hostility towards himself.

"Who are you?" Poland growled, tensing noticeably.

"I am the personification of England representative of the United Kingdom," He said, slightly affronted. It was extremely rude to ask a country to reintroduce themselves. England drew himself up, gathering what little strength he could in case he faced a fight. No matter what weirdness was happening he needed to be prepared. He shifted so he was directly facing Poland and the two of them settled into a stand off. As he extended his aura to feel the strange Poland out he was shocked to discover that he could not actually sense Poland. Something he had failed to completely register before, having been far too concerned with not being able to sense in own country. He was now doubly on edge. What was going on?

Poland opened his mouth to respond but descended into a coughing fit, which lasted several seconds and caused Poland to double over to brace against a nearby wall. England grimaced at the wet throaty sounds the other was making, which could not mean anything good, confirming that something was seriously wrong with Poland. Country personifications, as a rule, did not get sick unless it was a manifestation of problems within their own countries. For Poland to be this sick…England shook himself. It was not his problem, for now he needed to get home as quickly as possible and figure out what was going on. It was obvious that something major had happened in the time between getting knocked out and waking up.

"You are England?" Poland confirmed again, straitening up from his coughing fit.

"Yes," England bit, irritably, "Now would you be so kind as to take me home or point be to an international airport." He needed to get home and sort everything out and at the moment he did not trust this strange Poland enough to ask for help directly.

"Home?" Poland said slowly, "To England?"

England frowned and pushed past, "If you are not going to help I will find the way my self," He was fairly good at reading Polish and he was now pretty sure he was in Poland, having seen several signs.

"Wait," Poland turned, catching the back of his shirt, and England spun around quickly, breaking the grip. With all the hostility that had occurred over the past hour he felt it was prudent to be on guard. However, he needn't have bothered as Poland was once again distracted by another bought of coughing.

"I don't think that's possible…Not from here anyway."

Despite the obvious tension between them Poland seamed to have calmed down considerably. Not an attitude he usually associated with Poland who was unusually upbeat. It was all very confusing.

England glared, "What are you talking about I have several flight routs from Poland to England."

"Fight routs? There are no flight routs between here and Great Britain,"

"Yes there are… and there you go calling me Great Britain again. What is wrong with you?"

That seamed to rile Poland up.

"What's wrong with me!? What's wrong with you? The Italian-Germanic Empire and Great Britain haven't been open to civilian travel, or much travel in general, for several years!"

England raised an eyebrow. Had Poland completely lost it? He could feel his stress levels mounting.

"Italian-Germanic Empire? What are you talking about?"

Poland stood silently for several seconds, looking slightly shocked, "But how could you not…Surly you haven't… Have you finally lost what little mind you had left?"

England almost growled in frustration, glowering at the insult.

Poland, after spending some more time spluttering, he pulled himself together to give him a more thorough examination as if suddenly seeing him in a new light.

"You really don't know what the Italian-Germanic Empire is?"

"No, as far as I know Germany does not refer to himself as an Empire, if I did I would not ask," He snipped, calling oneself an empire was a shoeing for criticism these days. However, England was beginning to feel, the more he and Poland failed to understand each other, that something bigger was going on here.

"Impossible," Poland breathed then once again descending into a fit of coughing.

Poland straitened, "I think we may have a problem."

England, stresses and confused as he was could only uncharacteristically snap a, "No shit Sherlock**."**


	2. Chapter 2

**Are You Crazy **

**Without A Paddle**

After some more halting conversation, confirming that neither he nor Poland had any idea what the other was talking about, they settled into a somewhat awkward stand off. Neither of them quite knew what to do next. England rubbed his forehead to relieve some of the mounting stress.

Finally, Poland broke the silence, "We should probably move somewhere more secure." He gave a furtive glance around. "It's too open here."

England nodded slowly, allowing his eyes to drift over the silent buildings. He would also feel better not standing in the middle of a deserted street. There was something not quite right about this whole environment and situation. But, without the ability to extent his aura and sense his surroundings he could not be sure. England twitched in irritation.

"Where is everyone?"

Poland appeared uneasily, coughing once into his scarf, "This town has been abandoned…a lot of the towns near the Belarus border are like this."

England lifted an eyebrow but did not push the line of questioning further due to the obvious discomfort it was causing. A situation like this could occur for a number of reasons, none of them good, the most likely being the risk of invasion. Further confirming his suspicion that something greater than a simple location change had occurred during his unexpected blackout. Poland, who had been visibly irritated moments before, had seamed to have calmed himself, moving of in the direction of a side street.

After removing several planks of wood, which had been nailed over a nearby door, they ended up sitting in an empty coffee shop. England brushed cobwebs from his hair, which had gotten caught on his way in.

Poland began, in a somewhat halting manner, to explain his situation, "I can not believe I am explaining this," He paused, "and to you no less, but the Italian-Germanic Empire covers most of Europe and has for the last ten years,"

"You know…um…Austria, Hungry, France, Romania, myself included, there are others but…" Poland stopped, "Does any of this sound familiar?"

England shook his head, slightly shocked. How in the world had that happened? Especially in, what he assumed to be, short time between getting knocked out and waking up. It reminded him of Germany's occupation during the Second World War only he had never heard the term 'Italian-Germanic' before. What would such an Empire entail? The thought was mind-boggling.

"So Germany won World War Two?" He asked, desperately trying to orient himself in this new and somewhat horrifying history. It would explain some things.

"World War Two!" Poland spat the term, "You mean the 'unification period,'" The sarcasm and hatred in Poland's voice was tangible. Red danced in his eyes and the table he was leaning on suddenly cracked and splinted.

England glanced at the damage, slowing looking back to Poland who was breathing heavily and coughing violently into his scarf. That…did not look good.

However, Poland pulled himself together enough to give him a funny look and continue, "It continued from 1939-1951, …but you'll find some disagreement as to who won and when."

Bloody hell! A World War that lasted twelve years! Was that even possible? And he thought four years had been bad. That was a lot longer than the war from his time line. He guess that could explain Poland's sickness, recovering from something like that would take time. With such a change and drastic difference in history it left him several important questions. The most important being... What had happened to nuclear weapons? The Cold War? Should he even ask when he could not be sure that the mere mention of such things could encourage their existence?

However, it did confirm that the history of this Poland did not match the one he was familiar with. It could be an elaborate hoax or a prank. But why would anyone bother to go through such an effort and what was the point? So he was stuck in some weird alternative world/time line? Honestly, with all the crazy stuff that had happened to him over the years, he should really expect crap like this to happen.

They both stared at each.

"Look, It's obvious something bigger is happening here and that, however it may have happened, your history does not match up with the history I am familiar with." England finally stated.

"In my history there is no Italian-Germanic Empire or 'unification period,'" He elaborated.

Poland nodded a new look of understanding and something more calculating in his eyes, "So the words United Treaty or Mutual Appeasement Pact mean nothing to you?"

England shook his head at the odd terms.

"…but then how is that even possible," Poland, sneezing, seemed just a stumped as he did.

England sighed, "I have not the faintest idea as I can't remember anything which might have led to the to the current situation,"

"That is…irritating," Poland frowned, twitching and looking towards the door. England rolled his eyes. Yes, is certainly was 'irritating' and that did not even take into consideration his stressing disconnection from his land. Something he would not be sharing with strange not-quite-Poland.

Poland who, upon the realisation that their histories did not match up, was getting more and more unsettled finally called a halt to the conversation.

"Look, I would love to sit down and go over the past few decades of history in greater detail but right now we need to move. Which means I need to get you as far away from here as possible,"

The anxiety in his voice was almost tangible, making England pause. Was it really that bad? Was Poland still as War? Then it hit him. He had almost forgotten what it meant, to be an empire, spreading influence and occupying territory. Often those under rule did not end up in the best position. At worst it entailed the extraction of resources and the crushing of cultures. Poland was obviously sick. The severity and frequency of the coughing meant it was a serious internal problem. And he had obvious distain for his current situation. England suddenly became a lot more wary of his surroundings as it began to dawn on him that Europe may no longer be a safe place for him. If it was anything like World War Two then…

"I don't know if it would make a difference but it's better if Italy doesn't find you," That glint of angry red returned to Poland's eye, so fast England almost thought he had imagined it.

"Italy?"

"He runs most things here, the sadistic bastard, along with Germany," Poland explained dismissively, looking very distracted.

England tried to wrap his head around the image. The way Poland had phrased his statement it had made it seem like Italy were the one calling the shots. He found the thought hard to picture. This weird universe/time line shift was getting odder and odder by the minuet.

"I can not feel any energy coming from you. Which is good, it means we can slip you over the border into USSR territory,"

"What? You what me to go to Russia for help?" England stopped and could not help sounding incredulous. Poland looked annoyed.

"Not for help…But Italy," Poland practically spat the name, "will be looking for you and I'm not going to let him find you," As he said the sentence, the manic red tint returned. It glinted in his eye and darkness seamed to descend upon them.

"So you're coming with me." The tone left little room for debate and suddenly Poland was a lot more threatening. He was twitching slightly and he had acquired a glazed expression. Even without his ability to sense his fellow personification England could practically see the fluctuations caused by Poland's suddenly unstable mood.

Poland, sensing England's apprehension, with some effort, reeled in his sudden fervor, adding, "The plans got its faults but trust me on this, it's better than the alternative,"

England grimaced, he did not have much of a choice, considering he still had no idea what was going on. They moved to stand.

"You recognises the term USSR," Poland suddenly enquired, "So there are similarities between our timelines."

"Yes," England nodded, he had also picked up on this fact, "but the USSR was dissolved in 1991"

"Impossible," Poland stated bluntly, turning away from him.

England glared, impossible for him and his messed up world maybe.

Poland paused, a look of consideration in his eyes, "How fast can you run. You don't feel like a Country Personification. Can you even access your country?"

England sighed almost dredging the answer as he turned his attention inwards. There was a familiar panic when he once again failed to locate his county or citizens. There was nothing, no light, no web of energy, and no land… However, England stretched his senses further, there was still something there. A presence. Because, if there was truly nothing and he had been completely cut off, he would have long faded from existence.

He tapped at the echo and startled as a trail of energy trickled through to him, crawling over the vast distance separating them. England breathed a sigh of relief when the energy washed over him. It may not be a proper connection but at least he had some of his strength back.

"OK, yes, I can still feel the England from my world," He could not help but smile a bit. Now there was some glimmer of hope that he might make it home.

Poland nodded, "Well, come on then,"

They both leapt into motion, quickly sliding over the land at an impossible speed, which only country personifications could achieve. Although, he was a lot slower than usual and Poland also seamed to be having difficulty increasing his speed beyond a certain point. It did, however, give him a chance to think.

So World War Two had run a lot longer, resulting in this bizarre Italian/German Empire. So it was safe to assume that the Allies had lost. On the other hand the USSR still existed. That would mean a slightly different set of circumstances like Germany starting to build his military earlier or perhaps certain leaders in Italy coming to power sooner. Possibly, Germany had reframed from invading Russia. Or maybe even a disaster in other parts of Europe, making them easer to occupy, like drought or economic crisis. What about the rest of the world? Japan? America? England shook himself, he could speculate all he wanted but in the end he would not know anything until he started asking questions.

"What happened to England," He may not be linked to this world's England but he still could not help but be concerned. If the Allies had lost, what had become of his own nation.

Poland gave him a funny look.

"You mean the Kingdom of Great Britain…um…You really don't hear much from there anymore. "

Now that wasn't ominous at all. However, the eccentric title suggested that this world's England had not been conquered during the war, which gave him an odd sense of relief.

Poland's house was unusually close to the Lithuanian border and consisted of a small cabin-like structure in the middle of dense woodland. The surrounding area was cold and the air still, making the trees stretch upward.

"It's harder for me to reach but it's also harder for others to reach," Was Poland's explanation, which only served to increase England's already heightened sense of foreboding. His unease, which had been steadily mounting throughout the day, grew, adding to the stress. Poland was, most definitely, an unhappily occupied nation. And judging by what he had seen today he had a gut feeling telling him that avoiding this world's Italy and Germany would be a good idea. For the first time that day he felt some gratitude towards Poland. For all he knew he was taking a big risk in helping him.

Bandages and empty medicine packets were the first thing he saw when Poland pushed the door to his home open. The shelves they passed were crammed with half empty prescription bottles along with an assortment of other medical supplies.

"Sorry about the mess," Poland said as he pushed past not sounding the least bit concerned. England carefully moved down the narrow hallway after him, noticing several syringes scattered among the debris. The lounge-room was not any better off-England took note of a pile of bloodied dressings in the corner-the only difference being the form of someone asleep on the couch.

"Lithuania," Poland nudged the sleeping figure with his foot. When this failed to garner a response he tried again with a harder nudge.

"Lithuania!"

"WAKE UP! DUMB-ASE!" Poland shouted, lifting his foot and flipping the unresponsive Lithuania off the couch and onto the ground. He hit with a muffled thud, and groaned. The next works were inaudible due to his face being squashed into the carpet.

"Get up, idiot," Poland roughly hauled the other country to his feet.

"Geez," Lithuania yawned, "No need to be so ruff."

He stretched then stood slumped, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Like Poland his hair was an absolute mess. He was wearing a stained white shirt, which appeared absolutely filthy, and crumpled black pants. He looked nothing like the Lithuania England was familiar with, him being very neat and fairly orderly. England was beginning to see a theme.

Lithuania squinted, noticing England, "Who's that?"

"No one important." Poland quickly stated before England could answer. England gave him a look of enquiry, which was ignored. So did that mean he wasn't to trust Lithuania with the knowledge concerning his circumstances.

"Looks kind of like that nut-job Brit…" Lithuania trailed off as if distracted, eyes sharpening ever so slightly.

"I need you to take him over the border and get him somewhere safe."

"Whaaa?" Lithuania spun around, frowning at Poland with some concern.

"This is important."

Lithuania glanced at England in confusion then back at Poland, sighing and yawning.

"Sounds like a hassle," The tension left Lithuania's shoulders as he dismissed whatever had been bothering him.

"Just do it," Poland snapped, coughing into his arm. Lithuania sagged on the spot as if his arms were weighing him down, whining, "Can't you do it." He then flopped down on the couch, leaning back as if about to go back to sleep.

"No. I have been expressly banned from crossing the borders whereas you still can. Also I'll be easier to find and track…so get your lazy ass up and take him over the border." Poland emphasised the order by yanking Lithuania up by the arm.

"Now?"

"Yes now. This is urgent," Poland dragged Lithuania to the door, "Now hurry up and get ready." With an exaggerated sigh Lithuania slouched out the door.

England watched the strange Lithuania shuffle away and got the bizarre feeling of tipping into something much deeper and more complex than he could possibly imagine.

. . . . . . . . . . . Somewhere in Austria . . . . . . . . . . .

Austria sat at his large grand piano contemplating the keys before him. It had been a while since he had composed music with this particular instrument. He was more into synthesizing and techno theses days so his piano had become rather neglected. He ran his figure tips over the keys. However, he always liked experimenting with creating new sounds out of these old instruments. Austria bent down to fiddle with the microphone he had set up to record his latest masterpiece. Perhaps he could mix the result with something later.

Austria raised both hands in the air high above his head. He took a deep breath. Then he slammed them as hard as he could into the keys, relishing the jarring noise he created. He repeated the action several times, moving his arms up and down in quick succession, allowing the concoction of off key notes swell around him. Maybe at one point in his life he would have been considered traditionally gifted at composing and playing music. But with such new and diverse methods of sound and art now available tradition just seamed so lifeless, providing him with little interest or distraction. True beauty, he found, came from this odd form of chaos.

"If you're trying to destroy that piano there are easier ways,"

Austria stilled as the voice of Italy cut through the noise, resting his arms on the piano. He looked up, spying the other leaning against the doorframe, casually flipping a knife in his hand.

"If you can't tell." Austria cleared his throat, "It's called contemporary music. It's experimental. Truly beautiful," He trailed off, lost in thought, a sharp grin on his face. There were few who could truly appreciate the indicate beauty in the blunt force of noise, echoing and jolting through instruments, freely reverberation within a room. So loud and sudden, taking listeners by surprise. A roller-coaster of emotions. The piano had so many notes…what sort of wonderment would materialize if he played them all together at the same time?

He was rudely brought back to reality when his face was slammed into the keys before him. It made a wonderfully shuddering noise but hurt like a bitch. Austria momentarily worried for the safety of his piano but pushed the thoughts aside.

He was then being flung unceremoniously to the ground, with which he collided heavily. He grunted and his head spun.

"Do not ignore me," Italy loomed over him, a knife glinting in one hand. Italy did love his knives. Austria held up his hands in a gesture of surrender not bothering to pick himself off the ground.

Italy put his free hand on his hip, looking annoyed, "There was a large energy build up in Poland earlier today. I know you and Poland were in the vicinity."

Austria opened his mouth to comment but was silenced by a kick to the head.

"Don't bother denying it. I know you both went to investigate. What did you find and why wasn't it immediately reported?"

He might have reported it. Maybe a few years or so ago but, as it was, now he couldn't really be bothered anymore.

Also Poland, in that total downer tone of his, had told him not to say anything so why should he? He couldn't really say him and Poland were friends. But they tolerated each other. Poland put up if his constant rants about the beauty of his experimental music, even attending his performances, and he got Poland the specialized medicine he wanted. Common sense dictated that he should stay away from the guy, what with his constant rebelling and resistance. But he had little common sense these days. And besides, Italy had never attended one of his modern performances.

He ended up giving a non-committal shrug, which turned out to be a bad idea as Italy picked him up by the neck and slammed him into the marble floor again, stomping hard on his hand. His head rang.

"It would be a shame to have to brake your figures when you were so enjoying playing that 'music' of yours." He stepped down to emphasis his point, "You wouldn't want to end up like Prussia." Austria winced every so slightly.

"OK, Ok, no need to get violent," He finally said. Nothing was worth getting his hand stuck in a sling again…or losing his hand altogether. He hated creating beauty with one arm. It was annoying.

Italy bent done and pushed the knife into his cheek when he failed to respond at a quick enough speed. Everyone was so impatient.

"It was this guy, kind of looked like Britain only with better fashion sense, he was just wondering around. But I left before anything happened." Austria said in a rush, giving a lopsided grin. He wondered if the guy was related to England in any way or if he would enjoy his latest compilations.

"You left?" Italy sounded annoyed but straitened, removing the knife.

"Yeah, just some weird guy, no reason to stick around." Austria repeated again, nodding to emphasis his point. Italy scowled at him.

"Not when the magnificent world of music awaits my rehoofouch," Austria grimaced when Italy's boot met with his stomach.

"Was he a country personification?"

"Don't know. He didn't feel like one." Italy was still for several seconds, eyes vacant probably using his power to try and sense out that weird guy's location. Not that he would find anything.

"And I suppose he's with Poland now," Irritation coloured Italy's voice as he removed his boot from Austria's hand.

Austria shrugged again, pulling his arm towards his body to give it better protection. Italy, giving him a final and irritated kick, stalked towards the door.

Austria twisted to watch him go, catching the words, "….surrounded by incompetents….a thorn in my side for too long," just as the other left the room. He pulled himself into a sitting position, that had been an unusually quick meeting . And now he had a recording of a totally useless conversation. Italy had banned him from using his voice in any of his mixes. Austria hoped Poland would be all right. Who would he share his music with otherwise?


	3. Chapter 3

**Are You Crazy**

**Out of the Frying Pan **

"Don't tell anyone where you came from. In fact, don't tell anyone anything. Just say you woke up and don't know who you are. It would be nice to pass you off as human but with your appearance, and messed up energy signature, it's not very believable. "

England nodded in understanding. So Poland was making him out of be a splinter nation. Sometimes country personifications split in times of stress, war or when the country was divided by conquest, producing younger or altered versions of themselves. Most of the time the half formed nation faded quickly from existence but other times they stuck around. Prussia and Germany, along with the Italian brothers, were good examples of this process.

"The best course of action would be to avoid everyone. But it's better to be on the side of caution. " Poland turned and gave England a once over.

"We will have to do something about your appearance so people don't immediately mistake you for this universe's England. It raises too many questions."

"How about shaving off your hair?"

"What. No. That is a terrible idea," He said slightly affronted.

"Cutting?"

England glowered.

Poland sighed, sounding frustrated.

"Just a few centimeters,"

England only acquiesced to the process of cutting his hair because he believed that being unrecognisable would give him a much needed advantage in this strange and possibly violent world. He was beginning to suspect that his counterpart might not be the most stable or likeable fellow. Additionally, Poland seamed to believe that looking like himself would not be in his best interest. Not only was he avoiding Italy but he had also been advised to evade any attention while in the USSR as well. Based on what he had seen so far he was inclined to take Poland's advice.

Poland then shoved a pair of glasses into his hand, "Here, these will hide your eyebrows…a little anyway"

"My eyebrows?" He questioned.

Poland fixed him with a disbelieving look, "You do realise they are the most distinctive part of your face,"

His eyebrows were not distinctive! They were perfectly modest thank you very much. England accepted the glasses anyway. He supposed he did not have to wear then all the time. God, he looked into the mirror of the cramped bathroom he and Poland had squeezed into, he was beginning to look like America. He hoped France never got the chance to see him like this. The teasing would be unbearable and he would never hear the end of it. That is…if he made it home at all.

"Your eye colour is different. Britain's eyes are bright blue. And your hair is several shades darker. Hopefully, this will be enough to give you some ambiguity."

England ran a hand through his now slightly shorter hair, it was not a major change just being a tad spikier, but it still felt odd. He tried to imagine himself with blue eyes. It was all very convoluted and Poland was in such a rush to get him out of the country that he barely stopped to explain anything.

He made to complain and turned to Poland. Tired, sunken in eyes met with his. For a brief second England saw through Poland's strong front and was afforded the brief view of a country worn down by years of hardship. It was sobering.

"I guess I should say thank you," He settled for saying. Though he was still off-balance from all that had happened he had a gut feeling that Poland was doing more for him than he knew.

"Just…" Poland seamed about to ask something, "Don't get caught," he ended up saying. England pushed his way out of the mouldy bathroom, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Lithuania, who had dragged himself to the door, was waiting with a board expression when England and Poland reentered the hallway.

Poland pushed forward, "Do not, under any circumstances, draw attention to yourselves. Travel normally…nothing unusual. That bastard Italy is sure to have noticed something's up and will be on the look out for that sort of thing,"

"Yeah, Yeah. I know the drill. What a drag,"

Poland ignored Lithuania's interruption and continued, "I have a car waiting to take you to the border. Don't do anything stupid." He directed the last part at England who had be trailing behind Poland as he hauled Lithuania through the door. Poland was about to say something else but froze mid sentence as if distracted by some invisible force. Whatever it was caused Poland to become visibly more agitated. England spotted anger and fear as they flashed across his features.

Poland leapt into motion, grabbing a case off the floor and shoving it at Lithuania, "Don't forget to take your shit with you this time," He muttered before snatching a coat and handing it to England, "Here, you'll need this where you're going."

He then unceremoniously shoved them both down the doorstep and bundled them into the car, which had been waiting outside. Lithuania sat blinking at the steering wheel in front to him before lethargically moving to turn the car on.

"What are you waiting for? Drive already!" Poland yelled from the pavement, motioning wildly with his arms.

"Suppose I might as well," Lithuania then paused, "I left my shoes behind," He stated, sounding mostly unconcerned, pulling the car out of the driveway.

England blinked, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the quick turn of events. Just when he thought he was getting some handle on strange Poland he was being dumped with strange Lithuania headed into more unknown territory. What was he supposed to do once over the border anyway? He still had no idea about how he even got into this situation. So far his only plan was to avoid everyone.

England ran his fingers through his hair, turning to Lithuania. Maybe, he could use this time to get some answers.

"Are you part of Germanic-Italian Empire?" He had been wondering why Lithuania could cross borders whilst Poland could not.

Lithuania looked tired at the question, "Naa, I'm with the USSR,"

"Then how are you here… in Poland."

Lithuania stretched a little, seemingly bored, "Nobody really cares what I do so I come visit Poland whenever,"

"That sounds dangerous,"

From the urgency Poland had displayed in trying to move him out of German/Italian controlled territory he would expect all the borders to be on a tight lock down. Poland made it seem like the military would descend upon him and detain him at any second. How was it that Lithuania managed to cross the borders as much as he implied?

"Not really... Cause me and Poland go way back, it's easy to slip over our borders."

Lithuania sighed as if conversing with him was taking too much effort.

"Sides he doesn't bug me all the time…Over there it's always, 'Lithuania do this, Lithuania do that…Guard your borders Lithuania, increase food production Lithuania,' such a drag."

England watched Lithuania trail off and gaze vacantly at the road ahead of them. He took that as a queue to end the conversation. He continued watching Lithuania with concern, there was lazy and then there was indolent. Evidently, England signed, he would not get any further answers out of Lithuania.

England turned his attention to the landscape flicking past the window. Would attempting to drill Lithuania on historical events be too suspicious? The dirt track they were traveling on was long and winding, taking them through thick woodland. Dirt was being flung up from the unsealed road. They passed several rock formations, which resembled large stone blocks stacked atop one another. They slid past his vision and England frowned. Recognition flickered at the edge of his memory and he examined the structures more intently. Something, something important. What was he trying to remember? The car left the rock formations behind, turning onto another road that slanted steeply upwards. It was barley a road at all.

Suddenly it hit him and his memories of the moments leading up to this predicament came rushing back.

"The Stone Hedge!" He exclaimed. He had been at the Stone Hedge, spending time interacting with, and connecting too, his land. Then there had been that energy surge.

"I need to get to the Stone Hedge. That's how all this," England made a wild gesture, "Started,"

Lithuania gave him an odd look as if questioning his sanity.

"Whatever," Lithuania said after a pause, looking back at the road.

England was too relieved to be insulted by Lithuania's dismissal. He now had some notion on how he got here, meaning he had some hope of getting home. If only he could get back to the ancient monument perhaps he could recreate the phenomenon. Maybe, he could sneak through Europe then swim the English Channel if he failed to find transport. Poland had said he had no energy signature so he could simply avoid any other personifications.

"We'll be crossing the border soon," Lithuania cut through his excited thoughts, reminding him that, despite his revelation, he was still a continent away from his homeland. He was effectively surrounded by hostile territory and with no knowledge on how to recreate the incident or why it had even happened in the first place.

His dark mood was worsened when, after exiting a particularly bumpy section of the road, they came across a blockade of five or so black vehicles. A line of men in dark navy uniforms and holding machine guns, all of which were directed at them, stood in front of the vehicles. They were all wearing blacked-out facial visors, making them expressionless. In front of them stood a short, blond haired man, wearing a black, officer's uniform. An unpleasant scowl marred his features and there was something vaguely threatening about him.

Lithuania gave a long, drawn out sigh, "That'll be Latvia. What a pain."

England blinked in shock, taking a closer look at the stiff figure heading the blockade, recognising Latvia. The car coasted to a stop. A new sense of foreboding settled upon him. So much for his plan to avoid everyone.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . Back in Poland. . . . . . . . . . . . .

His day had started off normally. He had woken with a pounding headache and to the sound of his own strained coughing. He had then turfed Lithuania out of bed, they had shared a light meal together and he had downed his daily assortment of medication.

Him and Lithuania spent the morning lounging around on the couch, as they usually did, watching the propaganda on television. Next, leaving the perpetually tired Lithuania to seep on the couch, he had gone to visit one of the many abandoned towns along the Belarus border. Despite his poor health he often tried to spend some time each day fixing up these forsaken and half destroyed towns, helping any of the remaining people who had refused or had been unable to leave during evacuations. These people, despite their poor state of living, were one of the reasons he even got up most mornings. There was just something stronger and deeper about them. A lingering hope that maybe, one day, everything would return to how it once was. It was at this point in the day, when he had sat down to share lunch with a group of men who had been assisting him in refitting water access in one of the derelict houses, that his normal day changed into sometime out of the ordinary. Austria, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to randomly visit him in an attempt to invite him to some performance or another. They may have had disagreements in the past but that time had long ended, leaving them in an odd sort-of alliance. Austria had also brought along an experimental pain medication that doctors in his own country had recently developed.

He did not really know if the human medication made much of a difference, what was causing his sickness was rooted in something far deeper than the physical body, but he continued taking it anyway.

Then had come the weird buildup in latent energy. It had started slowly, barely noticeable, originating somewhere near the center of town. Next came a powerful surge, which had rushed across his land and shot through him as his people like a bullet. It had been almost akin to an electric shock and had left him blinking and unable to move, coughing violently. Unsurprisingly, in his moments of inattention, Austria had gone to investigate, leaving him to chase after the lunatic to ensure he would not cause any damage. He had enough problems to deal with without Austria adding to them.

When he recognised the form of Great Britain he had almost had a heart attack. He knew Britain and Italy had some form of special agreement on top of the official German/English Appeasement Pact, which specified that neither would mess with the eachother's Empires (Not that they always followed it.) So seeing England in his country had not been a good sign. He had been so shocked at the appearance of the highly unstable and downright dangerous nation that he had almost missed the signs telling him that something was seriously wrong.

Austria, being the insane man that he was, leapt right into insulting Great Britain. To which Poland had quickly sent the other away in the hopes of doing some damage control. Still reeling from the shock of the energy surge he had not noticed that the strange Britain did not have an energy signature until they had spent several minuets talking in circles and misunderstanding each other.

He had not believed it at first but this Great Britain, going by the title of England, was from some sort of alternate time line. He had been skeptical throughout their brief conversation. He would have up and left him to his insane rambling had there not been something different about the man, which seamed genuine. He was healthier, stood taller and lacked the psychotic flare most nations had. More importantly he seamed self-assured, despite his odd situation, and centered, two things he had not seen in a personification in a long while. He was then quite glad he had sent Austria away with the instruction not to tell anyone. Austria cared about two things, himself and that noise he called music, so he would not actively seek to report the strange occurrence to anyone, giving him some time. This 'England' was whole and Poland was struck with the sudden need to help.

He should have just left the strange not-quite-country there, wondering around the deserted city, to be picked up by Italy later. But that would make it too easily and at the moment he practically lived to disrupt the running of Italy's 'empire.' Poland dug his nails into his flesh, gritting his teeth. Whether it be resisting new laws, disrupting travel, hiding away resources, he would do it just to piss off the 'superiors,' as the bastards from Italy and Germany called themselves. Of course he suffered for his rebellion, his whole county suffered. But, he had long ago realised that it would not matter whether he resisted or was compliant, Italy would still endeavour to eradicate his culture and crush his spirit. It would just be a slower process. One only had to look at the other nations of the empire for proof.

This England came from a land where there was no Italian-Germanic Empire and had a light of strength in his eyes. He could have knowledge that could tip the scales. He wished he had the power to do more than simply sending England out of the country but he was finding strength harder and harder to come by these days. Even if he was just some crazy split or micro nation it was still worth it just to annoy Italy. He had to believe that what he did was worth it.

His plan to transport not-Britain away had relied solely on Lithuania's willingness to help. Something which was a bit hit or miss in most cases. Lithuania and his everlasting fatigue. If he had it his way he would spend all of his time sleeping, not that Poland would let him. He had his suspicions on why Lithuania continuously visited, ignoring the risk of discovery, just to spend most of his time sleeping. Everyone dealt with the stress of long-term occupation differently, Lithuania's was to ignore the problem altogether and escape somewhere where the connection to his land would be dulled. Sometimes it annoyed him, after all, he put so much energy into keeping his own country afloat even when he had so little to begin with. Lithuania did not even seam to care most of the time. He probably would forget to eat if he wasn't around to remind him.

Still, at the end of the day, they worked together and supported each other. He could not blame Lithuania for his wish to escape the hardship plaguing his people, as he knew it all too well. And he was glad for the company, no matter how dull, in a world, which seamed intent of taking everything away from him. So, with a little jostling, Lithuania had agreed to take England over the border.

It had been around this time that he had felt Italy's energy signature cross his border, flying towards him at an accelerated pace. He, of course, attempted to slow him down, but he had little power over his own borders. He could not even keep Austria out so what chance did he have with Italy. However, he could still slow Italy's process.

That brought him to the present, watching Lithuania drive away. He hoped he would make it home safely. He knew Lithuania sometimes got stopped and detained while crossing his border, meaning it might be several mouths until he saw the other country again. He hoped this was not one of those times. If everything went well and Lithuania managed to sneak in without detection Poland could expect his return within a week or so. Hopefully, England would find is way through the USSR, and make it to the Americas where he would be marginally safer. Then he would find a way back to his own time line and he would never lose the confidence burning in his eye. Poland would remain here.

Poland retreated inside to await Italy's arrival, anger, at his inability to keep him out of his lands, flaring. Italy was moving across his land far too quickly.

A knock at the door.

Poland tensed, not bothering to answer it. There was a bang and the door caved on its hinges, falling to the ground. Red hair, eye's glinting excited purple, Italy stalked through the opening, striding in like he owned the place.

Poland felt the familiar surge of intense rage he often experienced when seeing Italy.

"Ah, Poland," Italy grinned when he saw him, "Its been too long."

Italy then proceeded to stroll about his house, ignoring him. He clenched his fist, stifling the urge to simply lunge at the smarmy bastard. He knew Italy was simply trying to rile him up. Good. Let him waste time playing these games. Lithuania was good at hiding his signature. So as long as he was actively blocking Italy and Italy was not searching for Lithuania specifically it was only a matter of time before they crossed the border.

"This place is absolutely filthy," Italy smirked, knocking some boxes off one of the shelves, "Just like this wretched country of yours,"

"It is a wonder you are still here," Italy casually scanned the labels on several bottles of cough syrup, examining his large collection of medical supplies.

Poland growled. How dare he! It was his fault. His pain, suffering and sickness were all due to those forsaken sanctions Italy was enforcing on his country and people. Calm down, he thought, forcing himself to relax. This was nothing new, Italy had made these insults multiple times.

"Honestly, we should have gotten rid of that scum you call the Polish years ago. They are obviously not doing you any good. "

Poland twitched. The rage in him growing, consuming common sense. His people were strong! They were still fighting despite the passage of so many years. He was proud. Even those who had given up the fight still gave him great pride. They continued to survive in a hostile environment, in which most worked slave-like hours for little in return.

"If they weren't somewhat useful I would have," Italy gave one more contemptuous smile.

Something inside him snapped.

"AHHHH!" Poland saw red. He launched himself at Italy. No plan. No weapon. No chance of winning. He didn't care. He just wanted to wipe that smug grin of his face. Make him pay for everything!

A flash of silver. Pain erupted in his left shoulder and through the blanket of anger Poland resisted a knife embedded in his flesh. He kept going, driven by hate. If he could just land one punch…

The next knife hit his thigh, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. He landed heavily and skidded several paces.

"Truly, you get more pathetic every time I see you," Italy was standing over him, seemingly disappointed.

"Bastard!" Poland ripped the knife from his leg and lunged again, intent on stabbing Italy. A sudden blow to his stomach caused the air to leave him in a quick woosh. The knife clattered on the floor and Poland clutched his middle, gasping for air.

Italy picked up the knife, cleaning it causally on a handkerchief.

"Who was the man you found today? And where is he now?"

Dully, Poland sort out the location of Lithuania who was almost at their border. Good. Soon they would be out of Italy's reach and then Italy could pitch a fit all he wanted and it would do him shit.

"Fuck You!"

In one fluid movement Italy ripped the knife out of his shoulder and stomped down hard, pinning him against the ground. The force caused his neck to snap back and his head thunked against the floor.

"Why must you always be so difficult," He ground his heal into the wound.

Poland growled, coughing a few times, spitting up a glob of blood.

"Go to hell!"

Italy sighed in disappointment, twisting his heal deeper into Poland's shoulder, causing him to gasp.

"No matter. I will learn the truth eventually as I always do,"

The last thing Poland saw was Italy's sadistic grin before…darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Are You Crazy:**

**IMPORTANT! Note:** In this chapter everything **not** spoken in Russian will be written in _"Italics" _

**Into the Fire**

He and Lithuania spent several seconds not moving after car's engine cut out. England examined the vehicles blocking their path, noticing that they all appeared to be slightly older models.

"_Just stay here."_ Another sigh, _"I'll handle this."_ Lithuania slouched out of the car and shuffled his way towards the waiting Latvia.

When it became apparent that Lithuania would not be reaching him any time soon Latvia stomped the rest of the way across the space, meeting him half way. England could not hear what Lithuania said but saw him give a lazy wave. Latvia obviously took some offence to this as he stalked right up to Lithuania, drew back an arm and slammed a fist into his jaw. Lithuania stumbled back at the blow and England stiffened, ready to intervene in the case of an all out fight. However, Lithuania just rubbed his face still managing to look bored.

The next sentences were easier to make out as they were shouted in loud, angry Russian.

"FOUR MOUNTHS! FOUR MOUNTHS! AND NOT A SINGLE WORD! Who knows what could have happened! You could have be captured or discovered! Do you know how much trouble…what sort of international incident that would cause?"

Latvia reach up and grabbed Lithuania's shirt, yanking him down to eye level, "You have enough problems to worry about here in your own country without running off into enemy territory every other mouth like a complete idiot!"

Lithuania mumbled something in response, which caused Latvia's angry scowl to deepen. He shook the other country with both hands, "Do not give me excuses, this has gone on long enough!"

Latvia paused to take a breath, glancing towards the car. Their eye's met. Latvia froze momentarily, looking a bit stunned.

"Who is that?" Latvia hissed at Lithuanian, shaking him again. Despite the slightly lowered tone England could still hear him perfectly.

Whatever was answered unset Latvia further. The second punch sent Lithuania to the ground. England clenched his fist unsure whether he should intervene or do something. What should he do? Should he interfere? Was he not planning, moments ago, to leave Lithuania and find some way back to England and the Stone Hedge. He could not get invested. England once again cursed his whole situation.

"You idiot. I thought you were stupid but not this stupid. He could be a spy. It could be a set up."

Latvia narrowed his eyes, "Who is he really?"

Lithuania shrugged, looking quite unconcerned despite his position in the mud.

"So you are telling me that you decided to go out of your way to help some random stranger cross the border. Forgive me if I do not believe a word you say."

Latvia motioned to two of the men standing next to him who moved forward, "Bring him here."

They approached the car slowly, guns raised. Soon England was staring down the barrels of two semi-automatic sub-machine guns. In the background he heard Latvia snap, "And where are your shoes!"

"Put your hands up and exit the car slowly," The man on the left commanded.

England complied, running through several possible escape plans. He exited the car, carful not to make any sudden moves.

"Hands behind your head!"

Perhaps he should just make a break for it. He could do it. He could knock the man on the left into his partner then bolt into the tree's. The average reaction time of a human was no match for a personification, even a weakened one. So by the time any of the humans realised something was wrong he would be long gone. The only unknown was how Latvia would react. Without his ability to feel out the other personification he could only take a guess at his speed and strength. Latvia looked healthy and was definitely confidant but the Baltic States had never been amazing in terms of international power. And since they were still in Lithuania neither one of them had a home field advantage. If he were at full strength he would have done it, despite the twinge of guilt felt at leaving Lithuania behind (This wasn't his world damit he had no obligation here.) However, he was a long way off full strength, still trying to sort out his problems in connecting to his country. Additionally, Lithuania still had the power to seriously hamper his movement, this being his own territory, which would put him at a serious disadvantage. Not that he thought Lithuania would try to interfere with his escape but it was still too much of a risk.

"Now!" The man shouted when he failed to comply with the demand. England slowly put his hands behind his head, allowing himself to be marched to where Latvia was still interrogating an unresponsive Lithuania.

"I'm taking you, both of you, to see Commander Braginsky," Latvia finally snapped, appearing frustrated.

England fought to keep the recognition of Russia's human name from his face, a name used for the benefit of the surrounding humans. That and Latvia was probably unsure on whether or not he was a personification.

"Is that really necessary," Lithuania mumbled, picking at a piece of dirt.

"I don't have time for this," Latvia growled, grabbing Lithuania by the scruff of his shirt to hurl him upright. When Lithuania tripped Latvia gave him a good shake.

"You're a disgrace to the Union." He bit, dragging Lithuania across the ground towards a prison transport vehicle. Two soldiers on either side opened the doors, allowing Latvia to throw Lithuania inside. There was a muffled thud. Latvia spun around, stalking back over to where he was being held.

Latvia glowered at him in suspicion. England tried to look as clueless and non-threatening as possible.

"Put him in my car! There is something strange about this one," He ordered.

"But sir you don't know…"

"Do it," Latvia barked.

"Yes Sir,"

He was roughly spun around and England fought the urge to throw off his assailants and give then a good thunk over the head for rude manners. His arms were fastened behind his back and he was pushed towards one of the cars.

"We are moving," Latvia yelled at the other soldiers who had remained still and silent throughout the exchange. There was a flurry of movement to comply with the order. Latvia turned and followed him to the car.

"You try anything and I will blow your head off,"

England was treated to the surreal image of the significantly shorter Latvia leveling a gun at his face. It was made doubly disconcerting when he compared it to his own Latvia, who did not seem to have a threatening bone in his body. There was darkness in this Latvia's eyes, which told him he would not hesitate to shoot. It would not kill him but it would weaken him and that was the last thing he needed.

Latvia stared at him unblinkingly as the convoy of vehicles began their journey further into Lithuanian territory, his dark purple eyes following his every twitch. England tried not to let it bother him. He was the United Kingdom and no matter how threatening this Latvia acted he had faced worse. Instead he turned his attention to his new situation, which he could rightfully say had gone from bad to worse.

Poland was sick, Lithuania worriedly lethargic and Latvia was a violence prone militant. This was bad. He had always wondered what would have happened had World War Two ended differently. Now he was living it he was pretty sure he did not want to know after all. This world was not a good one. A creeping darkness, which he had failed to notice when he had first arrived, clung to everything like a thick moss. He had been through dark times and hardship. Times when he was unsure if he would survive to see the turn of the decade. It was that same bleakness he saw around him now. And he absolutely did not want to become a part of it. This was not his world and he needed to get home before he got himself embroiled in events. Unfortunately, his ignorance and lack of knowledge put at a huge disadvantage. His inability to access his full strength meant that escaping and fighting back would harder. He was not safe here.

And now he was headed to meet this world's Russia who, based on what he had seen so far, was someone he should definitely be avoiding. USSR Russia of his own time had been scary enough he did not need to face the Russia of this darker dimension. Shit, he should have run when he had the chance. He was totally fucked.

OK. He would not panic. He was tired of being pushed around and not knowing what was going on. What he really needed was a plan. Something to prevent others from discovering his origin from an alternate timeline. By god, who knew what chaos would happen if people found out the truth. At best it would mean discomfort on his part. That and he might mess up this, already crazy, world more than it was. At worse the crazy might spill over into his own universe and that was something he defiantly did not want to happen.

So he needed some way to survive his impending meeting with Russia without revealing too much about himself but revealing enough that he would not get locked away somewhere and tortured for information.

Russia would probably draw some connection between him and this world's counterpart. He was surprised Latvia had not recognized him, his disguise was fairly abysmal, but chalked it up to the lack of contact between their nations.

He thought back to Poland's advice, to simply deny knowledge of anything, and make himself out to be a split nation. Perhaps, maybe, he could pass himself off as a micro-nation.

All nations started of as micro nations. They appeared when country's were invaded, when people lived in one place long enough or if there was something particularly special about a landmark/mass. They could represent anything cities, states and colonies to features of the land, developing their own personality. Eventually, if they survived long enough, they became countries. No one really knew how or why they originally formed only that they just did. Sometimes their existence did not even make sense. He still had no idea how that annoying brat Sealand had formed or why he had stuck around so long despite having no land or people. One thing they did have in common though, was that they all started off at young children who slowly developed connections to whatever they were representing. Sadly, he had no knowledge of this world, meaning he could not pass himself off as a micro-nation who had just gone unnoticed for several years. By his appearance he should at least be significantly developed if he had started as a micro-nation.

So that left him with his original plan, to pretend to be a split nation. This plan hinged on the idea that his counterpart was crazy or unstable enough to be split into two. After all, no one had thought it odd when a nut job like Prussia split himself and formed a new nation. Germany had also appeared half grown when he had popped into existence, skipping his child phase. If his memory served him correctly Germany had not immediately connected to his people or country either and it had taken several years of following Prussia around for him to become a coherent nation. So his existence and appearance could, conceivably, be explained without giving away his origin from a different time line/dimension.

He just had to act clueless. He could say that he had appeared and lived in the England's countryside for a bit and then messed around with magic, which had transported him to Europe. He hoped this universe's him had a reputation for messing up spells like he did back home. No, it was better to pretend he had never met his counterpart, which would explain his lack of knowledge. England lent against the window, ignoring Latvia when he shifted in response to his movement.

It was a long and uneventful journey, winding through the Lithuanian countryside. They passed through several rundown towns, stopping briefly to refuel. It did nothing for his already shot nerves but gave him time to iron out a plan of attack and go over any questions he might be asked. As the sun set it became unbelievably cold and England was glade for the coat Poland had given him before he left.

It would be best to pretend not to speak Russian. If he was to build an image of cluelessness then he should only be able to speak his native language. Unfortunately, Lithuania already knew he could speak Polish from their experience together in Poland and conversation crossing the border. Hopefully, Lithuania would not bring the matter to anyone's attention. Judging by Lithuania's apathetic personality he probably wouldn't. It still made him nervous though.

The sun had long since sunken under the horizon by the time their convoy pulled up to a set of heavily guarded gates. They were quickly assured through at Latvia's command. By the illumination of the car lights and several lit windows England could make out the shadow of a sprawling military complex.

Upon exiting the car England and Lithuania were swiftly directed to an older looking stone building, which had probably been build before the complex had become a military installation. Several of the soldiers followed them, while the rest disappeared into the night.

Though the hallways were brightly lit dark carpets and grey walls ensured a gloomy atmosphere. It did not help that the air was incredibly cold. They appeared to be in some sort of old mansion. He was pulled to a stop outside a normal looking office door.

They were left with the two guards as Latvia entered the room to speak with, who he was pretty sure was, this worlds Russia. Latvia was gone for a few minuets and England once again contemplated making a break for it. He dismissed the thought almost instantly. He was in the middle of a hostile military compound. No matter how fast he moved, escaping would be extremely difficult.

"The Commander wishes to speak with you," Latvia directed at Lithuania when he exited the room.

"Do not say anything stupid," He hissed, shoving Lithuania inside.

The seconds ticked by in unbroken silence. The hallway remained mostly deserted and in the distance the sounds of men shouting instructions in Russian could be heard. When Lithuania reappeared he was pale and visibly shaken. He did not even glance at England as he hurried down the hall, stumbling several times as he went. Latvia watched him go, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Hurry up! I don't have all night," Latvia barked when he hesitated. England quickly slipped around the door, which shut behind him with an ominous click.

The room beyond was rather gloomy, being decorated with rich crimsons and dark blues. Russia sat at the far end behind a large desk, which was covered in paper. His heavy, black, military coat accentuated his already significant build. His hair was deep brown, almost black, and cast heavy shadows over his face. He had red eyes, bottomless pits of burning fire, which pinned him the moment he entered. England almost froze at the piercing stare. For a brief moment he was facing Germany, looking into those same unforgiving eyes, attempting to negotiate. In the back of his mind London was burning. He gave himself a mental slap, sealing himself, this was no time for flashbacks. This was not World War Two. His country was not in danger. It was just him and his need to survive. He could do this.

England conjured images of America and his stupid confidence. He did not have to act exactly like America but he needed to pull of the innocent stupidity America exuded and drove everyone mental.

"You must be the one Latvia caught crossing the border," Russia began in deep Russian.

"_Sorry_," He interrupted in English, attempting to smile. It was hard considering Russia was now glowering darkly at him.

"_I can not understand what you are saying."_ Dislike flickered across the others face.

"_Latvia tells me he found you illegally crossing the border. That is a grave offence. The sentence is life imprisonment,"_ Russia said, casually switching to accented English. His eyes never left England.

England debated responding. Did Russia expect a response? It seamed to him that the line was more of a scare tactic.

"_Let us start with your name, da,"_ Russia continued on, "_Who are you?"_

"_I am England,"_ He said, giving what he hoped was a sincere smile, _"Who are you?" _

Russia raised and eyebrow but did not look too surprised at the revelation, confirming that he had drawn a connection between him and his counterpart.

Russia ignored his question. "_If you are England_," A threatening pause, "_What are you doing so far from home and with my Lithuania?"_

England took a breath. This was it. He would tell Russia his story and he would either be believed or he would be in big trouble. He had decided to keep it as simplistic and close to the truth as possible so there was less of a chance at being caught.

"_I was in England…and then I was in Poland,"_ He said simply, channeling his best America impression. He had said that simplicity was best.

Several beats of silence.

"_That is it?"_ Russia asked flatly, apparently unsatisfied with the answer.

"_There was this energy surge… but that it all I know."_ England tacked on as if he had just remembered the fact.

Russia continued to stare, appearing unamused at his explanation of events. England shifted slightly.

"_Continue_," The order was spoken harshly and gave no room for refusal. England could not stop himself from wincing. There was a lot of power and pressure behind that command. If he had been able to sense energy signatures or were a lessor nation he was sure being exposed to Russia's would be almost paralyzing. How powerful was this world's Russia? The Russia of his world had never been able to produce something of that magnitude.

England shook himself almost stumbling to continue, _"So while I was there I met Poland. He has blond hair and coughs all…"_

"_I know who Poland is,"_ Russia interrupted, irritation colouring his voice, eyes darkening. England shifted, perhaps he should dial down the stupid a little bit. It would not do to annoy Russia into murdering him on the spot.

"_Poland told me to go over the border…so I did…with Lithuania. Who Poland introduced me too." _England ended his story. He tried to keep the details of how he met Lithuania to a minimum. He did not want to endanger the other country.

"_You do not remember anything else," _Russia had gone from staring him right in the eye to giving him a full examination.

"_I remember things from England. The land mostly. " _

England thought back to his homeland a little wistfully. It did not take much to put a sense of longing in his voice. He felt the land was the safest thing to discuss to in relation to his country as it was unlikely to have changed much between timelines.

Russia was silent behind his desk, expression unrevealing. England held his breath, hoping Russia would believe his tale.

"_Now you are here. What will do England?"_ Russia eventually asked, still holding him under intense scrutiny.

"_Go back to England?" _He responded, unable to keep the hope from his voice. It would be unimaginably convenient if Russia just decided to send him home. More threatening silence stretched between them. Just a bit longer. He only had to hold his composure for a bit longer.

"_I believe your story. You tell the truth."_ Finally came a reaction and England almost signed in relief.

His good mood was short lived.

"_I also think that you have not told me everything."_ Russia said, standing smoothly from his chair. England felt the unease return ten fold as Russia began to make his way around the table towards him.

"_You left out a lot of details. I know of England and you are not him. You have also not explained why you have no energy signature."_

England quickly attempted to defuse the situation, _"I do not know…"_

"_It would be a good trait for a spy, da."_

Russia continued to stalk towards him, towering over him, red eyes boring down into him. Slowly, he extended a hand above his head. England twitched, struggling to keep himself from running or lashing out. Russia gave him a cold smile, having caught the movement. What the hell was Russia doing? A hand rested on his head, ruffling his shortened hair.

It took him two seconds to realize that Russia intended to directly connect with his physical country through extending his energy signature into himself. Shit. Fuck. This was not good. But it was to late to move away.

Suddenly, he was able to feel Russia's aura, bearing down upon him. Then he was in it. It was immense, it was powerful, and without the buffer offered by a proper connection to his own country, he was immediately swallowed by it. Insanity, cold winners, a hash land, many thousands of people, bloody wars, revolution, famine, wealth, control, the brief light of summer. It crashed over him in waves and England struggled to maintain a semblance of self. He tried to drag up his own energy to combat its influence but he once again found his connection lacking, the trickle of strength had been completely cut off. Chilling cold, a Union which stretched across the glob, power, sunflowers in a field. Darkness…

When it stopped his head was spinning and his face was squashed into something soft. It took him several seconds to realize that he was lying on the ground. He blinked at the dark, blue carpet. He had fainted? That was somewhat embarrassing. Energy was buzzing around him like static, making him woozy. He pulled his arms towards him in an attempt to sit, groaning he looked up. Russia was still towing above him, frowning at his hand.

He glanced down, noticing England was awake.

"_Good. You're alive."_ He said without concern.

England attempted to pull himself to his feet but ended up stumbling sideward until he hit the wall. He braced himself. Russia, still frowning, returned to his desk, ignoring England and his attempts to stand. Finally, he managed to throw of some of the haze, which had been clouding his mind.

It was then that he registered what had happened. Furry welled up inside him. Russia had tired to influence, to access, his own physical country, his people! The nerve! That bloody uncivilized bastard!

Using ones aura to influence other countries was not an uncommon practice, though it had been more common in colonial and previous eras. If a country was powerful enough, and the other country weak enough, it was possible use that personification to access their physical land. It was invasive and extremely rude. It had been a long, long time since someone had tried something like that on him. Thankfully, he was sure Russia had not actually managed to do or discover anything. He guessed he had his shaky connection to thank for that.

He was sure, had he been at full strength, he would have been able to throw Russia off. Despite the power he had in this world England was sure he could match him. He came from a healthy era. Then he would give Russia a good clock over the head for his disrespect. Unfortunately, he did not have this power and was stuck breathing heavily and leaning against a wall, waiting for Russia to make his next move.

"_You will not return to England."_

England tried not to be too disappointed. He had not really believed that Russia would give him a way to return to his homeland. Especially, not after he tried to force a connection between their lands.

"Latvia!" Russia ordered, without raising his voice.

Russia turned towards him, _"Welcome to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. I am Russia. You will address me as _Commander_ or _Sir_ and will do as you're told, da." _

Latvia entered a few beats later, saluting.

"This is England," Russia introduced without inflection, switching back to Russian. "He is my special guest. Take him to a secure room. Show him hospitality."

Latvia glanced at him, surprise flickering across his features.

"Yes Sir!" He stated, pulling England over to him.

"Commander Russia," He nodded, switching from human names now he knew England was a personification. England, still unstable, tripped over the doorframe on his way out and Latvia had to drag him upright. And just like that…it was over. He was shot several odd looks as they traveled down the hallway.

Russia's energy signature still hung over him like a heavily cloud and he could still sense Russia exuding pressure on his position. It was probably designed to stop him from running off or escaping and would probably prevent him from crossing Russian borders. Apparently, he could still feel other personifications through physical contact. It wasn't that surprising as physical contact did make such things stronger. England sighed, it would take him some time to throw off the energy. Thankfully, Russia seamed to have underestimated him to some extent. Looks like his act had worked. Now he just had to figure out what to do next.

England tried to memorize the rout to his room but gave up when his tired brain spluttered at the task. When they finally reached their destination England could not help but be relieved.

The room was small but neat. It had a wooden desk in the corner, a reading sofa and a bed with enough blankets to keep him warm. It was cozy. Latvia left without saying another word, shutting the door behind him. The lock clicked, signaling that he was trapped inside. England glanced around, noting the bars on the window, moving sit on the bed. After such a stressful day he was glad to have a chance to rest. He could not believe he had had a World War Two flashback. He had not had one of those in years, proving that the stress was getting to him. Tomorrow would probably be just as bad and he needed to maintain his appearance as a naive and somewhat dull splinter nation. Acting had never been his strongest suit so he foresaw trying times ahead.

It was hard to believe that just this morning he had woken up safe in his own bed, anticipating a monotonous day of meetings.


	5. Chapter 5

**Are You Crazy **

**Interlude: Miles Apart **

When Poland had arrived home he had had that excited gleam in his eye. Lithuania dreaded that look…

The expression was a warning that Poland was about to do something stupid. Something to piss off Italy and Lithuania should probably high tail it out of there or risk getting caught in the impending explosion. It never meant anything good. This plan of rebellion came in the form of an odd green-eyed man dressed in a uniform befitting the Great War and was, probably, some sort of fugitive.

More pressingly, the man had strongly resembled Great Britain. Yet, at the same time, was completely different. Lithuania had only met Great Britain a few times and the man was completely off his rocker, mumbling about scones and giggling continually at his own internal jokes. That was atop the bouts of unpredictable violence. Though this man was obviously not at that level of insane the resemblance was uncanny, making him understandably worried when Poland had asked him to take the look-alike over the border.

Poland had not gone into details, shooting him a ' you're better off not knowing,' look. Which was fair enough. He understood that, when it came to a very likely future interrogation, he did not have the energy to withstand questioning. Important information was just safer when he was none the wiser. In fact they had long ago agreed to not share information with the purpose to keeping the each other safe. That did not stop the situation from making him uncomfortable.

The guy was strange, and not just because he lacked any form of energy signature (though that was exceptionally odd.) He seamed different. He was too composed. Too polite. Obviously, he was confused about his situation, being way too calm for someone fleeing the country and Italy. There was something about the way he held himself that just screamed self-control. Something that neither he nor Poland could hope to match. He did not dislike the man, he did not care enough to form that sort of opinion, but he was wary.

Poland obviously thought he was important. Important enough to risk himself and his health over. He was inclined to disagree. He had seen Poland after he his 'sessions' with Italy. It was never pretty, often leaving the other drained and lifeless for days. And that was after Poland had been released from whatever holding facility Italy used when he was done with his victims so the worst injuries had already healed.

But, as usual, Poland put himself last on his own priority list. Sometimes he just wanted to grab Poland and shake him till he saw reason. Yell, until he realised that he was making everything worse. He was tearing his country apart with his rebellion. Why could he not see that some fights could not be won?

He did not like it. Not one bit. Lithuania shivered, scowling at the bathroom door in which Poland and not-Britain had vanished, wishing he could lie down and rest somewhere. Poland should just let Italy have the strange man.

Yet, despite his misgivings and after some jostling, Lithuania still agreed to Poland's request. For, at the end to the day, they stuck together and if Poland thought this stranger was worth the risk then he would trust the others judgment. That and arguing with Poland on these matters was a losing battle and not worth the effort. So, moving at his usual sluggish pace, Lithuania made it out the door and into the car, heading towards his country.

He shifted in discomfort when the car finally crossed the border, ceiling himself to the helpless voices of his people as they swelled to meet him. Instead of relishing the renewed link, he felt strained and disjointed like he was being slowly drained. He drove onward, ignoring the discomfort, not-Britain's questioning and the random outburst about the Stone Hedge (maybe the guy was crazy after all).

He did not have long to dwell on the discomfort as, an hour into his country, he was met with a blockade of vehicles. Latvia was waiting impatiently at the head of the barricade, looking pissed off and extremely irritated. The others presence did not really surprise him, he had been gone for four months, which was plenty of time for someone to notice his absence and set up a team to report on his return. What a pain…This meant he would have to find a new rout when sneaking over the border. He had to wonder how long Latvia had been in his country, hanging around and waiting. Did he not have better things to do? Why could Latvia not just leave him alone? It was not like the shorter nation really cared where he went. He sighed. It did not matter. He was here now and it was time to face the music. How tiresome.

After getting punched in the face a few times Latvia obviously grew tired of his bland responses, tossing him into a prison van, which had probably been brought along for this exact purpose. The Britain look-alike did not join him in the van and he assumed the other was ridding with Latvia. Lucky him.

Unfortunately, now he had no distraction. He was alone in the van with only his thoughts and his thousand citizens and country for company. He wished he could sleep but he knew that as soon as he closed his eyes they would be there, crying for help, begging for a guidance he could not give. After spending so many years, propping up his suffering country and diminishing culture he was at wits end. He did not know what to do or how to fix his problems so he had done the next best thing… He escaped into Poland. And though Poland would often disprove of his actions he was still understanding and sympathetic to his plight. There he could recover and rest to his hearts content.

Lithuania rubbed his temples, trying not to let it bother him. However, the pressure did not let up.

He was tired. Being home made him tired.

"Go away," He mumbled to himself, gripping his head. He had already given them everything. Could they not see he had no energy left to spare.

They pressed down around him, pulling at him, subconsciously searching for something they would never find. It was a mess of confusion, a whirlwind of anxiety. He was desperately clinging to a cliff but the rocks were loose and he was slipping.

"GO AWAY!"

"HEY! KEEP IT DOWN BACK THERE!" Some nameless soldier yelled from the front of the van, snapping him from his daze. Lithuania realized that he had been mumbling incoherently to himself. He briefly considered yelling back but dismissed it as too much effort.

What sort of pathetic country was afraid of their own people, he thought despondently.

He had never been more relieved to cross out of Lithuanian territory. Sadly, he now had his impending meeting with Russia to worry about. The outcome of which would depend mostly on Russia's mood. However, this thought alone was not enough to keep him awake and he was soon drifting off into restless slumber.

All of this trouble for a stranger he knew nothing about.

All too soon he was being roughly shaken awake and dragged from the van. Not-Britain was also there, sporting a perplexed expression, which did not really match their current walk towards an impending doom. As he thought …the man was far too calm.

Lithuania did not bother saluting Russia when Latvia pushed him into the room. Though Latvia shot him a glare, Russia did not appear to notice or care. Lithuania felt the uncomfortable prickly feeling, which he often associated with being in Russia's presence, quickly envelop him. The large nation's aura was gloomy, projecting an ominous atmosphere even in its settled state.

"Nice see you again Lithuania," Russia's baritone filled the room and Lithuania shifted uneasily. It was so creepy when Russia said stuff like that in his emotionless voice.

"Have you any statement,"

Lithuania shrugged. Nothing he could say would do much at this point so it was not worth it. More silence. Lithuania just wished Russia would get this meeting over with so he could find a room and sleep. There was a subtle shift in the room's pressure, becoming more focused and aggressive, causing him to shiver.

"I assume that Poland is once again the reason for your trip over the border," Russia continued writing.

So Russia was in one of these moods, the 'I'm sick of this shit, you are nothing but an ant under my boot,' moods. Honestly, Lithuania preferred to be ignored, as a truly angry Russia was terrifying.

"Lithuania." An all-encompassing weight descended upon him and he felt the irresistible need to tell Russia his darkest secrets.

"Silence is not an answer,"

"Yes, I was staying at Poland's," Resisting Russia's crushing influence was well beyond his power these days.

Displeasure practically radiated from Russia even as he continued to write. Lithuania shuddered, his skin felt itchy and irritated.

"And the stranger you brought across the border?" The atmosphere was now so heavy that, for a moment, Lithuania thought he might suffocate.

"I don't really know who he is…Poland brought him home and told me to take him over the border. He's probably someone important that Poland doesn't want Italy to find." He said quickly. He just wanted this meeting to end.

The pressure receded and Russia looked up, interest flicking across in usually black features. Russia probably hated Italy nearly as much as Poland did. He had never really gotten over Italy's stealing of Poland and invasion of 'his' Baltic states, which Russia had been promised by Germany during the war. Queue the elongating of an already long World War.

"He looks a bit like Britain as well," He added, not bothering to include the fact that he had looked a lot more like Britain before Poland's ruff makeover. He guessed the man could be Britain's twin. Britain's suspiciously calm twin. But you would think they would have of head about something like that before now. Whatever, who every the man was he was no longer his responsibility. Lithuania squashed the feeling that he had somehow let Poland down.

"Interesting," Russia said slowly, looking towards the door.

"And without an energy signature. Very interesting," The expression on Russia's face was now contemplative and thoughtful. Lithuania was glad to not be in not-Britain's shoes, garnering Russia's interest was a one way ticket to pain and hardship not to mention those torturous mental games the other was so fond of.

Unfortunately, Russia soon turned his attention back to Lithuania with renewed displeasure. Lithuania flinched.

"I have told you this before…in this Union there is no need for weakness. Your people continue to live, they may not be happy, but they exist. You," Russia paused, giving him a frosty look, "are disconnecting from them."

Lithuania winced, hunching slightly. This speech…he had heard it before and it never got any easer.

"A country needs its personification to be invested in its future, da,"

What future, Lithuania thought bitterly, all he saw was continued servitude to Russia and his Union. He did not bother speaking. His unwillingness to participate in Russia's probing would make him seem less interesting.

"Becoming lethargic means one becomes complacent and a country becomes disjointed. It can affect moral, production speeds, military power." Russia continued on in a monotone.

"Now you bring foreigners into my land without permission. Have you no care for your people?"

Of course he cared for his people, Lithuania thought despondently. He had given everything to them. Why could the others not understand that he simply did not have anything left to spare. He did not bother telling Russia this fact. This whole situation was too tiresome.

"In losing touch with your land you put yourself in a position of weakness."

Russia, pausing for a second, continued in his business like tone, "It only takes one weak link to break an Empire."

A long silence stretched between them. Despite having returned to his writing it still felt like Russia was watching and scrutinising his every move. It was creepy and uncomfortable. He had often wondered if Russia could read their minds. With his red eyes and dark expression is almost felt like he could. He was so powerful and had so much control over the Union that Lithuania was sure it was only a matter of time before he figured it out. He quickly pushed the disturbing thought from his mind. Time ticked by. How long was Russia going to make him stand here? All he wanted to do was sleep. As the silence continued without interruption Lithuania began to tentatively hope that perhaps a lecture was all the punishment he would get and that he would leave the room relatively intact.

"Poland is dying," The hash words broke the silence.

"Huh?" Lithuania startled at the sudden statement. His stomach dropped and a cold feeling of dread settled upon him.

"Poland. He is dyeing, da."

The pressure returned, crushing and dispassionate.

"What are you tryi…"

"He is sick." Russia cut him off, "Every year he is weaker and weaker. He gets sicker and sicker. His country becomes poorer, his population decreases. He is dyeing."

"You're wrong," Lithuania broke out, hating his way his voice trembled. What the hell was Russia saying!

"What will do when he is finally gone," Russia continued on mercilessly, eyes trapping him.

"You will have nowhere to hide. No one to lean on. You will have to face your country and your people."

Russia stopped speaking, eyes boring into his. He felt suffocated. Pain shooting through his chest. He could not take it! The pressure! Russia had no right to say that about Poland! He was wrong!

He wanted to leave and he wanted to do it now.

Whatever Russia saw in his eyes it obviously displeased him for he gave another dark look.

"You are weak." Russia delivered the statement in the same cold tone he had used throughout the conversation. The force, which had been pinning him in place, finally died down and Lithuania averted his gaze. He clenched his hands into a fist to stop their trembling, unaware that his whole form was practically shaking.

"Putting you under house arrest has proven ineffective. In two weeks I will return to Moscow. You will accompany me."

Lithuania barely heard the pronouncement, being too intent on staring at his shoes and controlling his breathing.

"Leave."

When the order came Lithuania could not get out the door quick enough. On unsteady feet he practically ran down the hallway. He could still feel Russia's glare. He needed to be as far away as possible. Lithuania only stopped running when he was a good two floors from Russia. Air was coming in gasps and he felt drained. That was probably the quickest he had moved in a long, long time and it was exhausting.

But, he needed to keep moving. He wanted to leave and run back to Poland. He needed to see if Poland was all right. What if this had been the final straw and Italy finally eradicated the other country. Gotten rid of Poland for good.

He never should have left. He never should have listened to Poland. He should have just stayed there with him and convinced him to give not-Britain up to Italy when he came looking. But, at the time, he had thought it too much effort and had gone along with Poland's plan without protest. Lithuania wanted to slap himself. There was no denying that Poland was sick and in pain but he could not be dying. It was not possible, he thought with venom.

He felt a familiar sting in the corner of his eyes. He would not cry! He had not cried in years. It was pointless and it took up too much energy. If he left now, running at his top speed, he could be in Poland in a day or so. If he stole a car he could make it before sunrise. Unfortunately, this plan was somewhat flawed.

Russia would not let him go. He could feel it now. Russia's power, preventing him from leaving, causing his legs to freeze whenever the thought crossed his mind. Agitated and sick with worry Lithuania paced back and forth. Usually, when he snuck into Poland, it was from his own country, and it took him several weeks to wiggle around the restrictions Russia and Latvia placed on his person. That and no one really paid much attention to him other than throwing him the occasional order. Now, with specific orders to stay within Russian territory, he had no chance. But he needed to go! Lithuania turned several times up and down the deserted hallway, distressed.

Yet, he could not go.

Why? Why was everything so frustrating!

. . . . . . . . . Poland . . . . . . . .

The ceiling was white.

It was white and tiled.

White… White, tiled and clean. For some reason it bothered him.

Poland blinked. His brain faltered and the ceiling burred. White…Why was the ceiling white? He blinked again, his thoughts coming to him in incomplete bursts as if traveling vast distances to reach him. Why was he here? His vision blurred again.

What happened?

The last thing he remembered was….

Then the pain hit and Poland let out a pained groan. His chest was on fire, a stabbing sensation was shooting up his left side, and there were various stings and jabs throughout his body. He could not even feel his right leg. Garrr, Poland coughed, agony shot through his chest. For several seconds he let the pain overwhelm him.

Then memories, concerning why he was in so much pain, came rushing back, causing Poland to give a strangled gasp. Italy had…his brain stalled in an attempt to block out the recollections. The next few seconds were spent fighting his subconscious and accompanied by full body spasms. He did not want to remember. But he had to know.

Finally, he stopped, allowing the spasms to die down. He blinked up at the ceiling in dismay. He had failed, his mind finally supplied. And now Italy knew pretty much all of the events leading up to his arrival. Hatred welled up inside him. God dam it.

As usual, he had not been strong enough. He was never fucking strong enough. Not strong enough to stop Germany, not strong enough to stop Russia, not strong enough to stop Italy. For a while he lay there, drowning in the crushing sense of defeat.

But Italy had threatened his country, his people, with more destruction…And he could not do that. He could not subject them to more hardship, not on top of what they were already going through. He had no choice. If it had just him then maybe…But it was useless thinking of such things now.

If he followed instructions he was fucked, if he didn't he was also fucked.

His only consolation was that Russia would not make it easy for Italy to follow England into his lands. In fact he suspected that, was Russia to ever realise just how much Italy now wanted to capture the man, he would make it his top priority to ensure the exact opposite happened. He smiled grimly and twitched, Italy had not been happy when he had told him that fact.

If all went according to plan England would be heading towards North America. Now, lying on the floor, covered in his own blood, he wished the other would drop some hints in defeating Italy and his god forsaken empire before finding his way home. Not that it would do him much good from here. Perhaps if he could get into contact with the other nation again. The vague thought was all he required to give him the boost he needed. So what, he had failed, it was nothing new. What was important was that he was still alive and could still mess with Italy's plans.

For several seconds he allowed himself to worry about Lithuania, hoping that the other country had made it home safety and without incident. Up until that point Italy had either not cared or had not been fully aware of Lithuania's presence. Now Italy had a reason to be concerned about Lithuania so the other would need to be a lot more careful with his visits.

Poland coughed and blood caught in his throat, causing him to splutter, which made his chest throb. He attempted to spit out the blood, which congealed at the action, getting stuck in his throat. After all the shit he had just gone through he was not going to choke on his own blood as well! So, with a great exertion of effort, he turned his head to the side and spat the blood onto the ground. The substance was red and globby, joining its cousins, which were pooling and drying around his body.

"Poland?"

The voice broke through his hazy thoughts. With some effort he squinted to the side.

"Spain?" He questioned. With his blurry vision it was hard to make out details.

Across the hall in the cell opposite him stood another country gazing expressionlessly down at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Having a picnic,'' He snapped and coughed. What a stupid question. New pain alighted in his jaw, probably from being kicked there one too many times.

"How hurt are you?"

Another stupid question. It was fairly obvious that he was too injured to give an accurate estimation of his injuries.

Poland decided not to respond instead attempting to focus on the other's cell. The bars separating the too compartments where silver and shiny, catching the light, causing Poland to do a double take. It was oddly fancy for a prison.

It was then that he noticed how clean and sterile everything was. Not to mention there was light spewing through the small window at the top of the cell. The last he remembered the cells Italy used were all dark and covered in grime and the dried blood of his victims. The pitch-black nature of the cells was a torture in of itself, making it hard to tell the waking form the dream. Poland shivered. Either Italy had done some major redecorating or he was in a different location.

When his vision finally cleared enough to make out Spain he almost thought he was hallucinating. Spain's cell, if you could call it that, was elaborately decorated and contained a large bookcase, a desk, a double bed and screen to give the toilet privacy. It looked rather homey, contrasting with the fact it was prison cell, giving the impression that Spain probably spent quite a lot of time here. Even his own cubicle was rather nice, containing a toilet, sink and bed. Which was better than his last, which had contained nothing what so ever.

"Poland,"

Poland snapped his attention back to Spain, realising that he had been zoning out.

Before he could respond he was interrupted by the loud slam of a door further up the corridor and out of sight. Poland flinched at the sudden noise, momentarily panicking. What if Italy had returned! What if he was being moved?

"Antonio!" An excited voice yelled in Italian. It was accompanied by the clip of boots, moving down the cellblock.

"You would not believe what a pain in the ass it was to get here. Really, those curfews are nothing but trouble. I was stopped twice. Twice!…and by my own military too."

A short man in a neat, white, designer jacket and wearing clean dress pants strolled into view, flicking his platinum blond hair from his eyes. Poland vaguely recognised him as Romano.

"Not to worry, I straightened everything out and it only took a hour this time." Romano strolled up to Spain's cell and Poland was afforded a view of his back.

"I'm here now," The sentence was said with such energy that light seamed to practically leap off the others figure. Poland eyed it with distaste. It juxtaposed heavily with Spain's impassiveness. That's right, he had forgotten that Spain was rather devoid of emotion these days. He had not seen the other in quit a while and it was still odd to see him so detached.

Romano continued without missing a beat, "And I have a wonderful welcome home evening planned. First, we go shopping because you, like, totally need a new outfit for dinner. It is a very fancy event, all the top generals will be there." Romano paused to fiddle with a set of keys, "Then we are going on a tour of the new Venezia Gallery. I've booked the whole venue so it will just be us for the rest of the night."

There was a silence as Romano awaited Spain's response, "Oh come on, you totally like art, and there are the new pieces from France and everything." Romano put a hand on his hips about to say more.

It was then that he noticed Poland

"Ah! How hideous!" He exclaimed spinning fully around. Poland glared at him but Romano did not appear to notice.

"Brother is so inconsiderate." Romano huffed, turning back to Spain, "He has his own cells, like, two levels down. Just because he ruins his doesn't mean he can use mine. It's going to take weeks to get those blood stains off the floor."

"I'm majorly sorry about that. It'll be cleaned post hast." Romano continued, working himself into an indignant rage.

"It's fine," Spain said rather blankly.

At Spain's response Romano snapped right out of his annoyance and flipped straight back to his cheery talk of fashion and designers as he pulled Spain from his cell, clinging to his arm.

"Come on. It's been too long." Romano practically shouted, hurrying Spain along.

"It has only been two weeks,"

"Let's go. We have so much to do." The smaller nation ignored the response, moving away.

Spain paused, glancing in his direction, "What about Poland?"

"Oh I'm sure he'll be moved later," Romano dismissed, adjusting the pair of yellow tinted sunglasses he had resting atop his head.

"I mean… what about medical attention,"

Romano hesitated for a second, squinting at him, "He does look, like, sort-of injured. But this is a new jacket and his blood will get everywhere."

"Then you go ahead and I'll stay with Poland for a bit,"

Romano gave Spain a suspicious look, appearing perplexed, eyes once again flicking to Poland.

"You just arrived. Don't you want to go home and get changed into something fresher before shopping,"

Romano put both hands on his hips as if about to start a lecture.

"As soon as I finish I'll get ready and won't go anywhere else. You can pick me up later from the gates." Spain continued reasonably.

Several beats of silence passed.

"Oh Ok." Romano smiled, "But only an hour, so we still have plenty of time to do stuff." He tossed Spain the key, flicking his hair, flouncing away.

"I'll see you later," Romano cheerily shouted from out of sight. Spain lifted his hand to wave before letting it drop.

Poland blinked at his sudden change in situation. Had Romano always been such an airhead? He supposed anyone who was Italy's brother was bound to have a few screws loose. He felt the familiar spark of hatred grow within him. What if this was all some sort of plot to cause him more pain. It would not be the first time that Italy decided to torture him with mental games. As far as he knew Romano mostly stayed out of his brothers ventures but there was always a first time for everything. He was immediately suspicious of Spain who was now entering his cell.

Cautiously, Spain approached slowly, looking down at him, eyes calculating.

"This is probably going to hurt a bit." He eventually said bending down so he was leaning into Poland's field of vision. Poland tensed, wishing he had the ability to move.

"I don't have any medical equipment here so I'll need to carry you to one of the med bays."

Poland grimaced, relaxing slightly. With how injured he was any movement would be excruciating.

"Just do it. I'll be fine," He sighed. He had always been weary of Spain but, on the whole, thought him an OK guy. It was no use stressing out about something he had so little control over. How much worst could he be than Italy?

In the time he spent spacing out Spain had carefully rearranged his limbs, moving his arms in an attempt to scoop him up. There was a blinding flash of agony and the world fell into darkness.

When he reentered the land of the conscious he immediately noted that the pain had significantly lessoned. A glance to the left revealed a hospital drip, connected to his arm along with several monitors. On his right stood Spain who was doing in something to his leg, which he could not quite make out.

"You're awake," Spain noticed his movement, continuing to speak in a monotone, "Try not to move."

He guessed Spain had been telling the truth about helping him after all. Though he still thought this could be some sort of trick, he decided to give Spain the benefit of the doubt for now. Poland could not help but feel some relief.

While Spain continued to work in silence Poland cast his mind back to the dilemma of his inability contact with the outside world. Who knew how long he would be locked up and even if he was released his injuries would prevent him from doing anything for quite a while regardless to the help Spain provided. He needed to know what had happened to Lithuania and he also needed find out where England was. And he needed to develop some way to keep Italy from finding both of them. He would have to be carful in doing this and not letting anyone else find out about England being from a different dimension. And not just because Italy had threatened him with serious harm if he revealed anything. Maybe France would know something. The last he had heard the French man was still resisting Italy's influence, doing a better job than him at least. Occasionally, the other would contact him and provide him with information.

"You have three cracked ribs and two broken ones," Spine's drone broke through he thoughts, "You have two breaks in you lower right arm and several of your figures are also broken. I don't even know where to start with the internal damage, which seams to be occupying a majority of your regenerative power."

Spain paused in the description of his injuries.

"There is some muscle damage, lacerations, bruising and the achilles tendon in your right leg has been cut. It looks pretty bad and, with how slow your regeneration is, it'll be a while till you walk again. I have done what I can to speed up the process but it is still going to be some time."

No kidding, he was practically a mummy with the amount of bandages he now had wrapped around himself. And with his continued sickness his regeneration was unusually slow. He coughed, wincing as his chest seized up.

"When did you become so good at doctoring?" Poland said once the fit had passed.

Spain gave him a blank look, "Every time I turn around there is someone injured. After a while you learn a few things. "

A long paused passed and Poland almost drifted back to sleep before the other continued.

"I used to spend a lot of time patching up Romano back when he was younger," Spain faltered briefly, "That was a long time ago."

For a brief second real emotion had flickered across Spain's face. One that spoke of concern and kindness. It was gone as quick as it arrived, leaving behind the impassive mask of disinterest. Poland blinked, almost dismissing it as a trick of the light. Maybe the old Spain was not a gone as he thought.

Perhaps he could trust Spain, to some extent anyway, after all.

"Have you seen France recently," He asked slowly, carefully studying Spain for his reaction. Spain and France had been close friends for many years so it was not too big a stretch that they still talked to each other.

Spain stopped what he was doing, giving him a calculating look.

"He is a hard man to come by," Came the ambiguous response.

Spain then made to pick him up and it took him several seconds to realise that Spain intended to take him back to the cell. The other country carefully disconnected the medical equipment, ensuring he did not receive any further injuries. Poland could not help but feel some gratitude despite being annoyed at being ignored.

"What are you going to do now?" Poland asked as Spain laid him down on his cell's bed a meter away from the large blood stain in the centre of the room. Poland shivered and tried not to look at it.

"I'm going to get ready for tonight," Spain answered simply.

"Why?" Poland frowned. Nobody would willingly spent time with either of the Italy brothers as it was obvious they were both seriously unstable. It was obvious that, despite Spain's uncaring exterior, he was yet to succumb to the crazy that plagued most nations.

"Because he asked me too,"

"Bullshit" Poland growled. Maybe Spain was not so stable after all.

The other just shrugged.

"You're a shadow of your former self," He finally spat, irrationally annoyed, "What happened to the Empire who explored and conquered the world."

Spain may have been locked up but it was obviously not because he had be fighting in the resistance or directly opposing the Empire. From the clingy way Romano had been acting it was almost like Spain was his pet of something. Poland scowled darkly.

"Times change," Spain said simply.

He did not know why but the words caused the illogical anger to grow within him.

"You're pathetic,"

"And you're half dead," Spain blandly pointed out. He then got up to leave.

"If I see France I'll let him know you want to see him,"

The sudden admission yanked him from his dark thoughts. Poland could only glare at the others retreating form. Stuff Spain and his attitude. He was going to find a way to set everything right even if it killed him. He was pretty sure that England be the key to this.


End file.
